Ex-Valentine's Day
by Furiyan
Summary: Jack and Elsa are sophomores in college, and they both dislike Valentine's Day for different reasons. Yet, fate seems to have other ideas when it brings the two disillusioned twenty-one year old students together. Rated M for swearing, adult themes, and more smut than a...smut factory. When life gives me lemons, I stick 'em in this oneshot.


**A/N: Quick note, reiterating the presence of smut, bad language and dirty stuff in this oneshot. You have been warned, this approaches _Turned_ level smut. M rated.**

**This is a sort of gift for all you Jelsa-shippers out there, I had the inspiration this morning and finished it today, I wanted to get it up before tomorrow so you guys can enjoy it...especially you gutter-minded folks. Happy Valentine's Day. It's also a sort of experimental writing style for me in preparation for my next fic, so let me know how it reads.**

**Usual disclaimers apply, all RoTG characters are owned by Dreamworks (shame) and all Frozen characters are owned by Disney.**

**Dedicated to Jelli Kelli and all the others that have requested more hot stuff on CttT.**

**Ex-Valentine's Day**

The party is loud, dark and in Jack's humble and honest opinion, verging on obnoxious.

Sure, he knows that Valentine's Day is a national institution, characterised by love-heart cards, lingering looks and – if things get a little _too_ heated – pregnancy tests, and that there are people who truly enjoy the eponymous day for what it is, a celebration of love.

Except those attending the house party of Hans Westergard. They're just here to get drunk, get laid, and pretend nothing ever happened in the morning (which Jack has wittily coined _Ex-Valentine's Day)_. Part of him hopes to hook up with someone, maybe see where things go from there, and see if he finds someone worth giving a shit about, who gives a shit about _him…_unlike his last girlfriend.

The rest of him would rather die than spend it in his dorm working on his college stuff – which he is insanely _late_ for, nothing new there – so here he is. He'd rather be bored _with_ alcohol than without. Let's face it; if you hide in your dorm room for the night, you don't get treated to the epic theatricality that is Flynn being shut down by something like the sixth girl in a row. He should have learned by now _not_ to flirt with someone literally just after making the moves on someone else (the fourth girl gave him one hell of a slap) but Mr Smoulder is _very_ slow at getting hints.

Jack has barely gotten inside the door when he feels the heavy arm across his shoulders, and he instantly knows who it belongs to.

"Jack! M'man! Glad to see you came!"

Kristoff's deep tones are strangely audible over that stupid song by that stupid awards-hijacking Kanye West. He's been Jack's bro ever since freshman year, to the point that Kris's girlfriend Anna had squealed about it being a brOTP (whatever that means), though Jack won't deny that his friendship with the burly sophomore has been fruitful – or in some cases outright dangerous at their ages of twenty-one.

He's unwillingly steered towards the main room where the party appears to be in full swing; that is, the only dancing that's going on is involving tongues. It's there that he sees Anna's elder sister Elsa, nicknamed across college as the Ice Queen for some unknown reason. She's sat in solitude on one of the sofas that isn't being occupied by people just barely toeing the line between heavy petting and outright public sex, frowning as she gazes intently at the phone in her hands. He won't deny that he once had a thing for her, but a disastrous relationship tends to colour your view of the opposite sex if you let it. Not to say that he regards women any less than he did before, he's just a little reluctant to figuratively warm his hands by the fire in case he gets burned.

He feels Kristoff's arm suddenly vacate its prior position as he quickly darts off to the back garden, yelling something like _'No, Hiccup! Don't touch the Big Summer Blowout Punch!'_ and for a moment, Jack is left alone and adrift in the middle of a room of make-outs and Kanye West. So, he picks the only place where he can get away from the amorous liaisons, which just so happens to be the empty seat next to Elsa.

"Hey, anyone sitting here?" he asks, watching her reaction. She doesn't even look up from whatever her screen is shining at her as she shakes her head, the braid on her left shoulder dipping and rising with each movement. Jack takes the opportunity to park his ass, and instantly screws his face up in disgust when he hears the inimitable sound of something sticky on the leather as the cushion completes its inexorable dipping under his butt.

_Please say that's alcohol. I really like these clothes; I don't want to have to burn them._

There's a palpable silence between them, Elsa is clearly not interested in the party at all which is something he can't fault her for. He doesn't know why, but that's up to her. It isn't his business, and if he's totally honest he doesn't really care.

Kristoff returns a few seconds later with a plastic cup of something Jack doesn't quite trust, and he eyes it suspiciously as he swirls it around the rim. It's dark purple; it smells a little obscene and is quite possibly illegal in seven states. His eyes flick up to Kristoff with an incredulous eyebrow, and his bro returns it with an expectant expression.

"Come on, dude! It's just booze!"

Strangely, Jack becomes very conscious of the woman to his left and as his eyes glance over, she's observing the interaction between them with an impassive face, like she's awaiting the results of a social experiment. He's still hesitant to test the unknown substance in the cup, and Kristoff is just about to gently _force_ him to drink it when there are sounds of a scuffle outside, and an inimitable foreign accent screaming something about lechery and thinking with one's dick. Kris's head jerks up towards the back yard and he winces something fierce.

"Flynn just made a move on Merida. Woah! Jesus, she's got a mean swing."

Jack snorts into chuckles. _No-one_ makes a move on Merida DunBroch if they want to keep their jaw intact.

"You should probably go and break it up…" Jack says, trying not to let the hint hang too heavy in his words. Kristoff snaps his eyes back, and regards him with a horrified expression.

"Did you just suggest I get in the _way_ of Merida's punches?! Are you nuts?!"

Jack merely raises an eyebrow but keeps his expression as it was – unimpressed. Kristoff huffs and slumps his shoulders, muttering a terse _'fine!'_ as he strides into battle. Jack knows he's probably the only one that has a chance of restraining the fiery Scot, but his reasons for having the fight broken up are a little more self-serving – if Kristoff stops it now, Jack doesn't have to listen to Flynn whine all night about someone breaking his smoulder. His eyes lazily travelling back down to the cup in his right hand, he scratches the back of his head as he glares at the liquid, deciding whether or not to take the plunge.

"If I may offer some advice?"

The voice from his left is so out of the blue and surprising that Jack almost jumps, and he realises that he has never heard Elsa speak before. Her voice is soft but strong, elegant and her well-spoken words indicate someone who has an appreciation for the English language. His eyes travel quickly over to her, and she's still staring fixedly at the screen as though the text consists of something vitally important to the safety of the world.

"Go for it."

"Hold your nose, and swallow as quickly as you can. The longer you hold it in your mouth, the fouler it tastes."

Jack juts his jaw as he considers her words. She's kind of advising him _not _to drink it, but not outright dismissing the notion that it might be worth a shot. So, he decides to follow her advice. As it turns out, suppressing his nostrils is the best suggestion ever, as it blocks out whatever stench the liquid is giving off. Taking a deep breath, he swigs as much of it as he can, barely letting it sit on his tongue before it begins the rush down to his stomach. It tastes of something like Jägermeister, vodka and a few other things that he can't quite place, but in the split second that he could taste the liquid, he found it was quite agreeable.

"Not bad."

But then it hits him, like a wet fart from Cerberus himself. It's a simmering taste that grows into something so foul it could only have come from one of the levels of hell, and he coughs as it begins to burn the inside of his mouth and throat like someone had just poured gas inside and set it alight.

"Smooth," he rasps, "real smooth."

She giggles. She actually fucking _giggles_. Jack shoots her a glare for daring to find humour in his misfortune, and finds that she's looking at him with a sort of half-amused, half-pitying expression. If he wasn't so pissed at her obvious prank, he'd be losing himself in her eyes.

_Nope. Focus, Jack._

"You get used to it." she says, in between dwindling mirth. Jack narrows his eyes in half-playful response.

"How many have _you_ had?"

"Three." she says, smiling as she wiggles an empty cup in her left hand. She must be at least _tipsy_ after one infernal concoction, let alone _three_ of them. He keeps his eyes on her as he takes another swig, this time neglecting to hold his nose as though to prove a point. The second time is identical to the first, but he can cope with the burning a little better than before. Probably due to bravado.

* * *

Half an hour into his arrival at the party, and Jack hasn't moved from his prime position for observation – and he's seen quite a few things he never thought he would, plus some things he wished he didn't.

Hiccup actually _hooked up_. He's nowhere near as shy as he used to be four years ago, but he's still got a ways to go with women…and he's currently pressed against the living room wall with Astrid's mouth bruising his. Jack awkwardly raises his eyebrows as he tries not to look at the scene – though he would never admit it, he's secretly envious. It's no surprise, though, Astrid has made it clear (in her own way) that she has a thing for the lanky guy and Hiccup hasn't exactly made a secret of his attraction to her, either.

"Why are you here?"

Elsa's voice disturbs him from his third-wheel trance, and he glances at her with an uncomprehending expression on his face. At this point, she's gazing at him questioningly, like his answer is something she is actually interested in. She decides to elaborate her question, to provide further context so Jack might understand where she's coming from.

"You obviously don't look comfortable, and you haven't moved from this sofa since you arrived."

"Neither have you." Jack retorts, partly calling her out and partly to find out why she's being anti-social. Not that he can judge, of course.

"Yes, well, I have a reason for that." she concedes, returning her gaze to her phone screen. Jack slumps into the corner, one arm on the arm rest and another on the top of the sofa.

"And that is…?"

"I'm protesting."

"Protesting _what?_"

Elsa's eyes flick back up to him just before she rolls them, and with a deep sigh and a quick re-adjustment of her position (including the crossing of her legs, one over the other) she decides to throw him an explanation.

"The over-commercialisation of Valentine's Day, the flagrant taking advantage of lonely hearts by big businesses looking to make a quick buck, and the use of the day to justify one night stands. Not to mention the string of broken hearts left the day after amidst heavy hangovers and alcohol-induced amnesia."

She reads it off like she's practised it in front of a mirror, and Jack can almost see _Grumpy Cat_ in place of the rather astoundingly pretty woman by his side.

"And yet, you're here." he replies, prompting a mild glare.

"Yes, well, I had nothing better to do, plus my sister is quite persuasive."

"Same here, without the sister of course. She's too young for stuff like this."

Elsa exhales through her nose as she regards him with a hard expression, her eyes suddenly taking on a challenging fire as she brings her phone closer to her chest. Jack takes a quick moment to observe her attire, and it is simple and non-provocative. Denim trousers, with an ice-blue plain t-shirt, finished by the black leather jacket she hasn't taken off since she arrived. Evidently she's waiting for a good time to leave.

"I hope you are aware that our conversation will not go anywhere, Jack Overland. I am aware of your reputation."

Jack juts his jaw out with offense, raising his eyebrows into his hair as he regards her with an equally challenging glare – and to finish, a defensive folding of his arms.

"And what reputation is that?"

"You're a cheat. You broke Tooth's heart when you cheated on her last year, and she spent weeks moping in my classes about it."

Jack sucks in his cheeks in irritation and more than a little anger. He thought he was well away from the whole Tooth debacle, but he didn't expect his ex-girlfriend to come out with _that_.

"And you believe her, I take it?" he replies, hoping the answer is going to be just what he needs to shut this down for good.

"Yes." Elsa answers, her chin jutting out in contemptuous victory. Perfect. Elsa, sister of Anna, believer of Tooth, prepare to be destroyed by the unstoppable sword of truth.

"Well, in the words of Samuel L Jackson, allow me to retort. Tooth and I had been together since our last year in high school, and people kept telling me that she was no good, that she was always 'checking out the merchandise' – and I, like an idiot, didn't believe them."

Elsa's expression remained hard, it was clear she wasn't having any of this. Of course, Jack was only just getting started.

"Then, about a week before our graduation, I caught her in _my_ house with some guy she had met the night before, half-naked and eating his face like she hadn't had food in weeks. I literally throw the guy out of my door and she's there crying and pleading with me, saying that it didn't mean anything. That she only had eyes for me."

Elsa's eyes flickered a little, but she still kept the expression. You want the truth, Little Miss Gullible, you got it.

"So after a few days of her constantly texting me and calling me, saying that she's sorry and begging me to take her back, I completely lose all rational thought and do it. I take her back. And for a few more months, it's back to normal. Course, I still don't trust her, but I'm willing to give her a shot."

"However, six months into freshman year at college, she starts acting shady. Starts being late for dates, being overly lovey-dovey around me – but the best part is, she flips out whenever I talk to other girls. I don't flirt when I'm in a relationship, she knows that, but she still tears me a new one. So, I follow her one day from college, and guess where she goes?"

Jack leans forward at this point, and he realises just how much that whole situation hurt him and pissed him off, and he's accidentally taking it out on Elsa. However, she was the one that judged _him_, so he allows himself the catharsis.

"That's right. My best friend Aster's house. Guess what she's doing? Ding! Correct answer! She's fucking him on his couch, doing things that belong on rule 34 or adult websites. Has been for weeks. So, naturally, I break up with her the day after in the college cafeteria, in full view of everyone, but I hide the fact that she cheated on me – twice – because I know what damage a bad reputation can do. Needless to say, I gave myself the gift of breaking Aster's nose for lying to me all that time."

He watches Elsa's reaction, and she actually looks _stunned_. Eat that, Ice Queen, but get ready for dessert.

"Tell me, when did she say I cheated? Wednesday, Thursday? Did she say what I did?"

Elsa's mouth opens and closes a few times, and her entire body language softens as she begins to wring her hands. She looks down at something on the increasingly sticky floor, and mumbles something Jack almost didn't catch.

"Wednesday morning…she heard you were kissing Rapunzel in the music room…"

Jack leans back, his victory sealed. He smirks with pride at the complete reversal; _he's_ the one dominating the conversation with unequivocal truth and hard candour.

"I can categorically tell you that she was lying, because I have lectures with Professor Black every Wednesday morning, and I'm pretty sure you're aware that he doesn't let _anyone_ out of his classes, even if the Four Horsemen are doing the Harlem Shake outside."

Elsa seems to hang her head, the rug completely pulled from under her feet. Jack almost feels sorry for her, but he remembers that while he saved Tooth's reputation and kept the fact that she was a cheater secret, he ended up with the label. Which would explain the fact that he couldn't get a date since he broke up with her.

"So there you have it, the truth according to Jack Overland. Do what you want with it." he finishes coldly, swaying a little as he rises to his feet with the grip of tipsiness (he had treated himself to a third cup of whatever that was) in his mind.

"Thanks for the conversation. Oh, and by the way, Tooth pulls on her right ear when she lies."

And without another word, he attempts to walk away from her and find Kristoff. He's done with this party.

* * *

Jack trudges in the snow (the city had late snowfall this year) on the way back to his dorm, each step yielding that exceptionally satisfying _crunch_, the walking equivalent of bubble wrap. It's a glorious sound, and one that he misses when summer comes.

He came to the party alone, and he left the party alone. He didn't expect any different, though his phone constantly vibrates with each play-by-play account of how far Hiccup and Astrid are getting, to how many guys Merida has punched. He was even sent a brilliant photograph of her knocking Snotlout on his ass.

Truth be told, he's walking off the anger at what Elsa had told him, but he can hardly blame her. Tooth can be _very_ convincing if you don't know what to watch out for, and he knows that all too well. Still, it answers a few of the lingering questions regarding the filthy looks he kept getting all year.

"Jack! Wait up!"

Now there's a voice he wasn't expecting, given that he completely – and a little too coldly, he had later realised – tore her argument apart like paper in the rain. He freezes mid step, hands in the pockets of his navy hoodie in his customary grumpy stance. He turns to find Elsa rushing to catch up to him, and fixes her with an impassive expression.

She's tipsy, he can easily tell by how she sways slightly as she jogs towards him, so he decides to make it easier for her by meeting her half way – which turns out to be fortuitous for her as she stumbles and goes flying, her hands splaying out for something – _anything – _to prevent her fall. Jack darts forward instantly with his arms outstretched, and he manages to catch her before she face-plants the snowy ground. She's light in his arms, but her grip on his biceps is insanely strong. She looks up at him, her breathlessness evident in how rapidly her chest rises and falls. Momentarily, they are both lost for words, but whether that's due to the sudden burst of adrenaline remains to be seen.

"You okay there?" he manages after a while, starting with the customary response to saving someone a gravity-induced embarrassment. She blinks a few times, trying to understand the question.

"Yes…thank you." she finally answers, pushing herself up from Jack's outstretched arms and releasing her grip – though he noticed she seemed to linger a little before the last finger left his hoodie sleeve. There's a small silence between them as she seems to be searching for what to say, but whether that's down to the dwindling adrenaline, the fuzz that's probably sat in her brain or something else, Jack can only guess. Finally, she speaks, and it's something _else_ that Jack does not expect but _does_ appreciate.

"I…er…I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the party. I misjudged you, and it was wrong of me to jump to such a conclusion without seeking your side first."

Jack regards her coolly for a moment, before he does something he is even more surprised at. He shrugs, and lets the anger that he realised he had been holding onto like a warm blanket fall away.

"S'okay. Tooth's a good liar; I know that better than anyone. It was nice to meet you, Elsa."

He smiles at her before turning away to resume his journey back to his dorm, but freezes for a second time when he feels that iron grip on his left forearm. To say it sent a severe bout of flutters in his stomach was an understatement, but he suppressed it quickly. He glances down at the dainty, almost perfect fingers around his forearm, and up to her eyes which seem to have a pseudo-hopeful expression.

"Listen, I…I was wondering if you would walk me home? I hear you live in the college dorm rooms, and my apartment isn't too far away from there. I don't really fancy walking home alone at this time of night."

Jack raised an eyebrow at this; the woman with the moniker Ice Queen was suddenly interested in his company. He wasn't sure whether to trust it or not and…hang on…did she just say she has an _apartment_?

"Wait…you have your _own_ place?" he asks incredulously, to which Elsa blushes and offers a shy smile in response.

"One of the benefits of being born into an affluent family."

He briefly studies her, working out if it's worth the slight detour when all he wants is to collapse into his bed, nurse the tipsiness in his mind and fall asleep to his _Firefly_ marathon box set…but there's something in her eyes that is almost wishing he'll say yes.

So he does.

* * *

Jack always used to consider himself to be a fairly observant person, though the whole debacle with Tooth does not lend itself to that fact, but on the way to Elsa's apartment he missed a metric fuckton of signs that only became apparent when he walked through the door.

Not his door, however, but Elsa's.

During the walk, he had noticed how she seemed to be invading his personal space by walking less than six inches to the side of him, constantly asking him questions about his family or what he's studying in college, what his thoughts on his roommate are-

_("Flynn may be an immature idiot that always thinks with his dick, but he's a good guy when you get past all that.")_

-how she seemed to be constantly fiddling with her braid or casting the occasional glance and smile, with flushed cheeks – which he assumed to be due to the cold…what a moron – though the biggest sign was when she seemed to lace her fingers into his. The woman that was called the Ice Queen was suddenly all touchy-feely, and needless to say it confused the hell out of him.

But, he rode the perplexity out for the hell of it, because he was curious…and boy, did that curiosity pay off.

He hadn't even set a foot in Elsa's doorway before she had gripped his hoodie with both hands and forcefully pulled his lips to hers, an almost voracious movement that stole his breath and sent his heartbeat into overdrive. He's barely even registering how her tongue is slipping between his teeth, playing tag with his and how her hands have relinquished their vice-like grip on his chest and are lacing themselves around the bottom hem of his hoodie.

_Shit. Fuck. This is happening. Get a hold of yourself, Overland. Man the fuck up!_

So he does. They're still standing by the door as they bruise themselves with each other's lips, and with a blind kick he manages to succeed in closing the door and giving them some privacy. He steps forward with her and presses her against the wall, eliciting a breathless gasp in his mouth and a quiet moan. He can feel her crotch against his increasingly tight brown jeans, and he _knows_ she feels it too when her hands suddenly jerk down and hold his hips right fucking there, bucking her own pelvis against his with an elevation of gasps. His mind is swimming with the rush of pleasure, both from the physical touch of this woman pressed between him and the wall, and the fact that her left…right…oh who gives a shit…_one _of her hands has slid between then and is vigorously rubbing his length through his jeans.

Now it's his turn to grunt and moan, and the cheeky little minx actually _smirks _against his lips. Oh, you wanna play it like that?

_My turn_.

He breaks the kiss, which prompts a little whimper and a pout – which he quickly soothes by driving his mouth against her neck, alternating firm open-mouthed kisses with little nibbles and pecks, tracing a long but convoluted line from her left ear down to the only part of the collarbone he could find under that infernal t-shirt. Her moans reach a new intensity as she responds aggressively, one hand rubbing his dick with ferocious abandon and the other entwining its fingers with his hair, almost pulling strands out with how tightly she holds him. If she keeps it up, he's going to come right then and there…so reluctantly he breaks the union by moving his hands to grip her leather jacket and roughly pull it from her.

It works, and he can tell that she's been waiting for that moment with how quickly she shakes off the sleeves, and her hands mercifully relinquish their tasks as they grip the bottom hem of his hoodie once more, and damn near rips his head off with how forcefully she pulls his garment upwards – and the cool air against his chest tells him that not only was he deprived of his beloved hoodie, but she had somehow managed to pull off his black sleeveless tank top as well. How did she do that?

_What the fuck?_

"I thought," he manages breathlessly, pausing while the collar nearly yanks his nose from his face, "you said the conversation won't go anywhere?"

He barely gives her time to answer before his mouth is once again on her delicate little neck, a line of red marks from his prior ministrations. Along the way, he also noted that her lips were red raw with the passion with which they kissed, and that felt _good_.

"Well…that was before…" she manages, in between moans and little yelps as Jack's teeth nip at her collarbone, "and this is now…_oh shit Jack, don't stop_…and just because I hate…the idea…_fuck, right there…_of Valentine's Day…doesn't mean I can't take advantage of it when I see something I want…"

He has only just managed to remove her t-shirt from her body and managed to get a quick glance at her bra – black lace with pink trim, for the record – before he becomes decidedly aware of the lack of tightness around his crotch and the sudden disappearance of her from his vision, the cool air now attacking his legs but the warm hands around the base of his dick…and he realises just where she went.

"…and, believe it or not I want you, Jack." she murmurs huskily on her knees, before wrapping her lips around his cock and forcing him to hold onto the wall for support, groans escaping his throat as he melts into the velvety warmth of her mouth, the lapping of her tongue and the impossible suction that exists in there.

"Fuck…" he just about manages as his legs threaten to give way, and putting all of his weight on one arm he chances the placement of his other hand on her head – to which she responds well with a muffled moan and a deeper bobbing. He wants this…fuck that, he _needs_ this, but he's got to stop soon before her mouth completely claims him, and Christ is she going deep. Wait; was that the back of her _throat_?

He needs to stop _now_ before the sucking and tonguing pushes him over the edge, because he wants to make this night _last_, and that means _he_ needs to. So, while his brain is still marginally functioning he pulls out from the heavenly mouth in which he could gladly lose himself, eliciting a disappointed sound and an annoyed glare, steps out from his jeans and pulls her to her feet. The irritated glare disappears into an expression of playful understanding, and she wraps her arms around his head to pull him into yet another bruising union of lips while she steps backwards towards her bedroom, his finger fumbling with the button of her jeans along the way.

It's not elegant, efficient and it _definitely_ isn't smooth, but through all the stumbling and the way she nearly fell backwards when he _finally_ managed to release her from those annoying jeans of hers, they eventually make it to her bedroom – and that's where Jack decides to take it up a notch.

He slides the shoulder straps of her bra downwards to remove the last vestiges of modesty (hah!) from her shoulders and resumes his dining on her skin, sucking and kissing, nibbling and occasionally – and very lightly – biting the smooth surface which, from the length and strength of her moans and whimpers and the grip she has on his hair, indicates that she is very close to coming herself. She's either trying to distract herself (poorly) by using the hand that's wrapped around his dick and rubbing up and down with all the tightness and speed she can muster, or trying to guide him to where she wants him most as he constantly feels soft, wet material against his tip – inside her.

Of course, there seems to be the little matter of her lacy briefs in the way…but he will take care of that in due time. He traces a line of kisses from the middle of her collarbone, now angry and red with passionate marks, and sits his lips bang in the middle of her cleavage. She notices where he's going with this and deftly unhooks her bra, tossing it to God-knows-where and allowing him free and clear access to her extremely sensitive breasts and nipples.

He traces a line of kisses to her right nipple, reverently guiding it into his mouth with his tongue as his right hand delicately and gently cups her left breast, softly massaging and manipulating it with tender care and attention. That hand, that damn grip on his hair again, keeping his mouth where it is – not that he was going to move…yet – accompanies a louder and deeper moan from those dainty, pink little lips, and both of them feel like they're going to burn up inside. She roughly grabs his right hand in a silent command to be more vigorous in his ministrations, evidently soft and gentle just ain't wanted right now. Nope, she wants it harder.

He takes that as a hint to step it up once more, and the left hand which had been waiting on her right hip, rubbing circles into her pelvic bone with his thumb, slides across to below her navel and pauses briefly while he looks up into her eyes, currently clamped shut with lust and pleasure. It takes her a little while, but she becomes aware of the placement and his intent, and with another silent 'yes'…along with a rather loud _'fuck yes, keep doing that, right there' _she gives him the go ahead.

He slowly, achingly, teasingly slides his fingers down into her briefs, to the point that her non-hair gripping hand almost jerks down to his to force the issue, until his middle finger finally reaches her clitoris and begins soft, small, gentle circles around it, occasionally pressing in to alternate the pressure. Her eyes shoot open and the loudest moan she has uttered tonight escapes her lips, her pelvis involuntarily bucking against his finger in a desperate plea to continue, to take it further and faster. She's obviously reaching her own point of no return, and is trying to seal the deal.

She knows that all things should be equal, so while his free hand moves itself down the side of her body she quickly wraps her fingers around his length once more, eliciting pleasurable grunts and moans from him as she slowly – resisting the urge to pump him for all he's worth – rubs her hand up and down, taking the initiative to gently flick her finger across the tip and making him jump as a shock of warm lightning shoots through him. He responds by sliding his finger further down, almost slipping as she is _that_ fucking wet.

"Do it, Jack," she gasps, halfway between a pleading whimper and a command, "Please…"

So he does, he slides a single finger inside and feels just how hot and wet she is, and the moans that reach his ears as he slowly slides the finger in and out, along with the gentle, tender circles around her clit tell him that she's teetering on the edge of falling into the abyss of curses, loud screams and warm pleasure. He feels the contractions as she almost shouts his name, curling his finger up to her G-spot to heighten the sensation and speeding up the flicking and manipulating of her clit.

She comes, and she comes _hard, _bucking her hips against his hand and even pausing her rubbing of his dick, such was the overwhelming sensation of an orgasm tearing its way through her entire body. She practically buckles from her position of standing, almost collapses into his arms for the second time that night, and as her mind begins to take control once more over the furious beating of her heart and the thunderstorm of nervous lightning in her torso, she pulls Jack to an upright position, turns him around and fucking _pushes _him onto her bed, staring at him with a hungry expression.

There's only one look when you're in the grip of passion and lust, only one look where all you can think about is fucking someone senseless, and Jack sees that she has that look down to an _art_ as she hastily slides out of her briefs.

For a moment, he's struck with how god damn _beautiful_ she is, how that blonde braid seems to shimmer in the moonlight streaming in though her window, how her eyes – which right now, seem to be eating him up – cause him to drown in those pools of blue, and how perfect her figure is. Even if this is just a one-time thing, that he'll be added to the legions of people cast aside on _Ex-Valentine's Day_, he can't complain and is going to ride this out.

Ride being the operative word, because he once more feels the iron grip of fingers around his dick, holding it in position as she slowly lowers herself onto him…and he damn near comes right then as he feels the searing heat and pulsing wetness envelop him. Powerful moans, repeated curses and many, _many _utters of a certain blasphemous phrase from her mouth mingle with the moans of her name and outright pleasured groans from his, and while she completes her long descent she rests her hands on his chest while his rest on her hips.

"Oh, fuck…so deep…" she almost squeals as he begins to fill her completely inside, her hips slowly riding him as she begins to accommodate his length, the muscles involuntarily pulling the rest of him in. It's all he can do to hold himself back, especially when she opens her eyes and gazes directly into his, with this undefinable expression, this look that she's exactly where she wants to be.

The bucking increases in speed and strength as she feels the familiar build-up in her core, and Jack thinks he just about manages a remark on precisely how tight she feels, wait, did she just blush? Yeah, she blushed. He never reckoned that the cool, elegant demeanour hid such an animal inside, but the sudden appearance of red in her cheeks was just so god damn cute. He distracts himself by moving his hands up her chest to focus on something other than his own build-up, to which she responds by attaching them firmly to her breasts as she rides him harder and faster, then returning her hands to his chest.

_Not helping!_

The furious motions become almost bruising until, inexorably, she falls off the edge of rationality and into the acute lightning storm of orgasmic pleasure, screaming his name at the top of her lungs, dragging her nails across his chest and letting her hips thrust against him with involuntary power. It also didn't help that every so often, Jack was thrusting up like a geyser burst to heighten the sensation for her.

Now's the time to try something new, he decides, and with an agonised yelp from the woman currently nursing several aftershocks – or multiples, he's not sure – he slides himself from under her and deftly makes his way behind. Her body is still jerking with the pleasurable fury inside her as she collapses forward, and for a second she has no fucking clue what he's about to do.

And when he slides himself back into her with a guttural growl from his throat and a loud, high pitched moan from hers, with his hands firmly on her hips as her ass is in the air, she _definitely _knows.

Something about the sounds coming from Elsa's mouth as he, at first, gently moves inside and out of her tells him that either she is still riding the post-orgasm wave, or she's reaching new heights of pleasure. Both work for him. He _is_ going to make it last after all, and also make the most of it. He never expected this to happen, for him to be in bed with – quite possibly – the most stunning woman in college where she shows him parts of herself that he's probably the only person to see.

"Oh fucking hell Jack…right there…do not stop…fuck me right there…"

Her breathless, moan-punctuated commands are like music to his ears and he continues his assault, his hands firmly gripping her hips and pulling her back as he thrusts forward, seeing just how deep he can go. Her pelvis is bucking backwards onto him, trying to maximise the pulses of insanely strong pleasure coursing through her body. She begins to shout 'harder', to order him to go 'faster', and he knows that she's about to topple over the point of no return for a third time, to reach the point where she cannot take anymore.

Unfortunately, so is he. While her core contracts and clamps down on his dick as though it's saying _'mine now'_, while she's screaming his name and gripping her blankets so tightly her knuckles turn white, while her hips jerk back and forth, up and down and her entire _body_ shudders with her third orgasmic delight, he can feel the unstoppable urge filling him and directing him to let it go. He wants to hold on for longer, he _really_ wants to keep himself from the edge but he can't. He's even screwing his eyes shut and willing himself to hold back.

"Fuck…Elsa…I'm…" he manages, and by some stroke of understanding she knows what's about to happen. Jack feels the sudden removal of the searing heat and vice-like contractions, and he starts to panic. He can't let himself go all over her blanket, but he can't stop it either. Maybe if he points his dick _somewhere_ that can be easily cleaned he might avoid post-coital wrath.

That particular thought goes flying out of the window and into the night sky when he feels a different warm sensation around his length, along with that _amazing_ sucking sensation that nearly killed him the first time – and the tiny little nibbles of teeth along the veins that uncontrollably pulse with preparation. As he opens his eyes and jerks them down, he sees Elsa's moaning mouth around him, bobbing up and down and _waiting_ for him to come, _willing_ him.

Oh boy, he does. With a roar of her name he opens the floodgates and fires his seed into her anticipating mouth, pulse after pulse shooting along his dick and spewing forth into the wet heat of her tongue. Her moans are loud and delighted, and she momentarily jumps with just how much is coming out. In fact, he's pretty surprised to with how powerfully he is coming.

It must be something about _her_, he decides in a brief moment of clarity surrounded by a pleasurably befuddled mind.

It's only as he manages to catch his breath and flops backwards onto the pillows, riding out the post-orgasm fuzz as he desperately tries to speak something –_ anything – _that he opens his eyes and notices something that is incredibly surprising and a real fucking turn-on for him – she isn't spitting anything out into her hand or on a conveniently placed tissue.

_Did she…_

_Did she just…_

_What the fuck._

_What the actual FUCK. Elsa, you do surprise me._

She catches his wide-eyed stare and gives him a cheeky little wink combined with a sultry, playful giggle.

"Well…as far as Valentine's Night goes...I'd say that was pretty fuckin' amazing…" he manages breathlessly, each word a herculean effort to speak. Elsa giggles once more, and there's that cute little blush on her cheeks again. Jack just gazes at her silently, appreciating every inch of the naked, ethereal beauty of the woman by his side…and it takes him a little to realise she is also gazing at him with something he can't quite read.

_It doesn't matter at the moment. Mind-blowing orgasm now, body-language reading later._

"I'm inclined to agree, Jack, that was…for lack of a better term…amazing. You truly are full of surprises." she says huskily, mild after-shocks punctuating her words as she leans over to him and captures his lips with a passionate kiss, the salty taste of him mingling with the weird 'concoction' at the party on her breath.

"Yeah…well, after that performance…you make _me _look like an open book." he half-heartedly replies.

It's as she giggles once more and rests her head against his chest, draping a weak arm across his abs and one leg over both of his, and he feels the warmth of her body and the softness of her lightly sweating skin, and he takes account of how _good_ it feels to have someone in his arms that he feels a pang of something unwelcome in his gut, shooting down his go-with-the-flow, easy-going approach to this intense session of passionate sex.

Tomorrow is gonna suck.

* * *

Jack wakes up sometime after nine, though he doesn't realise it. The sun is glaring through the window, split in several places by the blinds – huh, she has blinds on her windows, totally didn't notice that – and it's the amber glow and warmth in his eyes that stirs him from his sleep. He groggily strokes his arms across the bed and notices the absence of the lady of the house, and it's that emptiness that drops that unwelcome pang right back in his gut.

Fucking Ex-Valentine's Day.

She's obviously disappeared for the day to who knows where, having woken early and silently left her apartment, leaving him to get dressed and vacate the area. It's a strange notion considering – if he _was_ that kind of person – he could effectively help himself to anything in her apartment, but he shrugs off that observation along with the lingering feelings of being cast aside.

He didn't expect anything to happen yesterday, and while he probably had the most insanely amazing night of his life, on some level he made peace with the idea that it was probably a one-time thing. Except, he still feels a little dejected.

So, with a heavy heart he slides off the bed and stumbles in the vague direction of the living room – he _thinks_ that it was near the door that he was parted with all of his clothes, although it could have been the goddamn kitchen for all he knew last night. His attention wasn't exactly on clothing placement, mostly _displacement._

He finds his jeans, still crumpled unceremoniously on the floor near the front door, and the sleeveless shirt nearby. Sliding on his jeans and haphazardly pulling down his shirt, he notices the absence of something else that _should_ theoretically be there. He distinctly remembers his head almost being yanked off with the ferocity of Elsa's disrobing of him, so it _should_ be here…except it's not.

Dammit, that was his favourite hoodie.

"Looking for something?"

His head whirls around to the direction of the voice, completely not expecting her presence in the apartment right now – though it technically is _her_ apartment – and finds her casually leaning with her back against the door frame into what looks to be her kitchen, her hands clutching a wide mug of steaming coffee and a cheeky little smirk on her features. It's in daylight that his heart truly skips at how beautiful he finds her…

…and she's wearing his fucking hoodie. Not much else, by the looks of it. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he at least has his jeans on to mask the sudden rise of his dick in his boxer shorts, though he can't exactly hide the wide-eyed surprise in his face. She's gazing at him coyly yet studiously, as though she's playing a game with him and seeing which way he will jump.

"Yeah," he says, his throat surprisingly dry, "you seem to be wearing it."

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to see how it felt on me. Surprisingly nice, actually. Very warm. Coffee?"

Jack considers his response for a moment, as he knows he's still lost at sea and doesn't know where he's going. He should, by rights, decline and save himself the heartache by leaving with or without the hoodie – preferably _with_ as for one, it's his favourite hoodie and for two, it means she has to take it off, and he takes a little pervy pleasure in _that_. And yet, something inside is urging him to stay, ride this thing out and see where the journey ends.

Curiosity killed the cat, his mother told him in his youth, but it might be worth it. Plus, he could use a drink.

"Sure," he says, licking his dry lips, "I could use some coffee."

She smiles warmly – not a smirk, Jack, take note – and retreats into the kitchen, pushing her ass off the doorframe as she does so. He follows her through the doorway and leans against the kitchen counter with his arms folded, observing her as she goes about the liquid-related ministrations. At one point, he has to re-adjust his dick in his trousers as she reaches up to the top shelf of her cupboards, and the hoodie slides up to reveal her underwear.

_Huh. Matching briefs._

He still doesn't know where she's going with this, so he keeps quiet and watches, occasionally running his fingers through his snowy locks as he, in between glances at her perfectly sculpted form, takes into account her kitchen. It's a fairly expensive looking setup, with granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, and the table that sits against the wall separating this room from the kitchen is mostly glass but with chrome legs that he could probably see his reflection in.

Before he knows it, she's right there in his vision about eight inches away from him, holding his cup of coffee in front of her. His eyes quickly flick back to her face, and she's gazing at him with that expression he saw last night, that undefinable look that puzzled him moments before he pushed it out of his mind. It seems to cause his heart to flutter madly, but he thinks that could be coincidental.

Evidently she's far more confident in this situation than he is, because as she quietly studies him and takes sips of her coffee, she pretty much leads the conversation.

Which, as it happens, is what he's been waiting for, albeit unknowingly.

"I'm going to be perfectly candid, Jack, so I hope you'll respect me enough to be the same."

She keeps her eyes firmly locked on his, as though gauging his every reaction, reading his body language to see if he's lying, if he's telling the truth, or if he's uncomfortable with the conversation. Truth be told, he's just waiting to see if he's going to crash and burn to soar into the clouds.

"I have had a…thing…for you since the beginning of freshman year, ever since our shared classes with Professor North, though I concede that I have not shown it as clearly as I should have done. When I found out that you were, at that point, dating that-"

Jack couldn't be sure, but he could assume there was something decidedly _not nice_ spoken under her breath.

"-Tooth, obviously I respected your relationship with her and chose to keep quiet about my…thing."

She hesitated briefly and looked away, a strange expression of guilt on her delicately sculpted features as, by the looks of things, she's trying very hard to choose her next words in the most diplomatic way possible. Jack never had any patience for tact or diplomacy; he always spoke in the same manner as he did since he was ten.

Blunt as a fucking hammer.

"And when you were told that I was a cheater, it instantly coloured your opinion of me and turned you right off. Am I right?"

She snapped her gaze back to his cobalt eyes that were sat in an expression that was slightly hard yet sympathetic. She opened and closed her mouth a few times in an effort to find out precisely how to respond, but settled for a simple…

"Yes."

Jack inhaled deeply and unfolded his arms, resting the balls of his hands on the kitchen counter that he was leaning on. Wary, yet open.

"Like I said: no worries. You aren't the first one that she's lied to, and you _probably_ won't be the last." he says, offering a smile to go with the statement.

"Yes…well, be that as it may, when you told me the truth last night it…sort of…brought back that crush I had and, while last night was enjoyable...oh fuck it."

So far she had avoided the dropping of the F-bomb, and it mildly startled Jack to hear it spoken outside of breathless moans and desperate pleas for more. He covered it by accepting the coffee from her hands and holding it in front of him, paying close attention to her slightly stumbling and shy words.

"Last night was incredible, and I'm hoping it won't be a one-time thing. Therefore, while we seem to have started off at the mind-blowing sex stage – not that I'm complaining in any way, because I'm really _not, _last night was absolutely incredible-"

_Too fucking right it was._

"-I was wondering if you would be amenable to making it a long-term thing between us? Not just the sex, I mean, but…everything else?"

She waits patiently for a response, which Jack doesn't give her instantly. He's fighting to stop the wide smile from carving up his face at her sincere words, because he can't quite believe what he's hearing. It sounds too good to be true.

On this day, the day of broken hearts and agonising hangovers, of realised mistakes and worries of _oh-shit-the-condom-split_, the girl who he had a thing for, who apparently has a thing for _him_ is now enquiring as to the possibility of a relationship. This is…out there. _This_ is what he's been waiting all that time for, the thing that's been causing his heart to split apart into thousands of excited butterflies.

There's only one answer on his mind, and it's perfectly timed with the slightly falling expression on her delicate features. Her blue eyes are so pretty, they don't need to be tinted with sadness.

"I'd say-" he begins, before taking her cup from her hands and placing it by his on the kitchen counter to his right, snaking an arm around the small of her back and pulling her against him, and wrapping the other arm around her so she can't move…

"-that's a pretty fucking awesome idea."

And leaning forward and a little bit down, he only _just_ catches a glimpse of one of the widest, most blinding beams he has ever seen on her face before he seals the deal with a kiss, the passion of last night replaced with something more.

Tenderness.

There's only one thought on his mind as her hands find their way into his hair to deepen the kiss, as her tongue slips deftly into his mouth and as she presses that amazing body against his – it's still weird feeling his hoodie on someone _else_ – an unspoken suggestion that they attempt round two of shenanigans, and that is this:

_Hah. Fuck you, Ex-Valentine's Day._

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed. **


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